All My Broken Dreams (Locksley Hall #1)

Chapter Seven

“I didn’t think of that,” she said, her chest tightening. “He could have gone to visit them and that’s why he’s gone dark. Our mother was against him having any contact with his father’s biological family.”

Deacon’s eyes were hooded and glinting in the low light. “Why is that?”

“She won’t say. My mother doesn’t like to talk about her first husband or his family. It’s always been a closed subject in our household. I assumed it was for our dad’s sake, but after he died, she became even more upset when Harry brought it up.”

“So Harry was interested in meeting his father’s family?”

“My brother is all about family. That’s why we were worried when we didn’t hear from him. It wasn’t like him to drop out of sight.”

“He might have changed since his arrival. University and living abroad changes students. They start thinking for themselves.”

“He was always independent. I didn’t mean that. I mean he was attached to us.”

“And to you especially, I think.”

Unexpected tears burn behind her lids. “He constantly worried about me. He said I was like Laura Wingfield in The Glass Menagerie . Closed up in my attic apartment, playing with my collections and dreaming my dreams.”

“Was he right?”

“No. I have no dreams.”

Deacon didn’t speak for several minutes but Robbie could feel his eyes on her. “It’s a demanding schedule at Locksley Hall. It can be hard for some students to keep up. Maybe it became too much for him and he decided to check out for a few weeks.”

“That sounds like something a depressed person would do. Was Harry depressed when you met him?”

Deacon looked at her, startled.

“I’ve never met him–not that I know of, anyway. I was just spitballing, throwing out a random guess. I don’t know anything about your brother.”

“Don’t you? You have a bottle of prescription medication in your cabinet with my brother’s name on it, but you don’t know whether he was depressed or not?”

She threw down her fork and pushed away from the table. “What’s going on here? Where is my brother? Why are you lying to me? Who are you ?”

Deacon had never felt so large and ungainly in his life as he reached around the table to clear their plates. As a young man playing hockey, his size positioned him to play defense. The enforcer. Hit the opponent and hit hard. His size was no help to him now. What he needed was the vocabulary of Alastair Manderville or the sophistication of his son, Deacon’s cousin, Casey.

Casey Manderville would know exactly how to handle Robbie Listowel.

“I told you who I am.” He avoided looking her in the eyes. “I’m the janitor at Locksley Hall. That’s as good as it’s going to get for me. Money is always tight. Guys like your brother come to me for drugs–some illegal, but most are hooked on prescription medication. Students at Locksley don’t come from rank and file families. They’re under a lot of pressure to succeed. The drugs help out with that. They pay me, I keep them supplied and no one in their family has to know.”

“You’re telling me you’re a drug dealer,” she said flatly. She crossed her arms over her chest but her face was wan.

“It’s a side hustle. A veterinarian brings in the drugs with his regular order and I distribute them. I was informed through a source that a student named Harry Listowel wanted Prozac. I filled the order but he never came to pick it up. I don’t deal on campus. They have to come here.”

“A drug dealing janitor from Canada who just happens to live in the same building as my brother?” Robbie shook her head. “Harry wasn’t depressed. Why would he ask you to get him drugs?”

“He didn’t ask me. The order was placed through a third party. They might not have been for him. Someone could’ve used his name to protect their own. That happens. I never met your brother. If he lived in the building, I never saw him–which isn’t surprising considering I start work at seven in the morning and most classes aren’t in session until nine.”

She looked anxious, vulnerable and totally exhausted. Robbie was heart-twistingly fragile at the moment and he doubted she realized it. She was trying to be tough and hold her ground, but she didn’t stand a chance against Fuil Bratach. Deacon watched her struggle to keep it together, knowing she would lose because it was his job to see that she lost. Robbie Listowel was a threat to the Order as serious as Harry had been.

“Come on, Robbie,” he urged her gently. “You don’t have to get this figured out tonight. Your shoulder needs to be rested for twenty-four hours, right? Take it easy … finish your sherry. Is it any good?”

She started to cry, which was disturbing. Silent tears rolled down her chalk white face. He led her to the sofa to sit down, lifted her legs off the floor and then covered her with a woolen throw blanket that he kept for cold nights.

“I’m sorry,” she wept. “You’re trying to help and I’m treating you like a criminal. I’m a mess.”

“You’re not a mess. You’re worried about your brother.” He felt like a great ox, lumbering over her like some mutated giant. “It’s probably not as bad as it seems but when you’re desperate for answers, you’ll latch onto anything.”

“I’m just so tired,” she moaned, her head rolling back. “You guys are five hours ahead of my time zone. Why am I so tired? It’s only six o’clock back home.”

“Travel takes it out of a person. Especially when you get beaten up in an alley. I’m sorry that happened to you. That was a shitty introduction to the city.”

Robbie peered at him through thick black lashes that accentuated her incredibly blue eyes. She made him nervous. Deacon looked around for his beer, bracing himself for more questions or tears.

“You’re making up for it.”

He held her gaze, wondering what she meant by that. Her feet were pressed against his thigh, encased in tights, but he became conscious of a part of her body touching a part of his body and his body reacted.

Deacon stood up and strode to the window with purpose. What that purpose was, he didn’t know, but it gave him an excuse to look down into the street.

“It’s beginning to snow,” he said. “It felt like it was coming. No sign of the assholes who attacked you. It’s getting late. If you’re tired, I can make up the bed for you.”

“Not yet. Are the rooms all the same? I mean, is this room the same as Harry’s?”

Deacon rubbed his mouth. He wasn’t clever like his cousin, Casey, but he had a strong intuition that he relied on to know when to shut up. He had a feeling Robbie wasn’t asking out of idle curiosity.

“I haven’t seen the other rooms in this building. Why?”

She frowned and stretched out under the woolen blanket. “I was just thinking, Harry could’ve had a roommate and that’s why his name is still on the mailbox. The scholarship covered his tuition but he would have to pay for his housing, right? Harry probably shared the flat to save on the rent, but if it is laid out like this one, I guess he didn’t.”

“Most student housing is furnished with two single beds against either wall and cupboard space for each. There’s a hot plate, a kettle for tea and a sink for washing up. Students take their meals in the dining hall on campus or eat in pubs.”

She sat up eagerly. “Then it’s possible Harry had a roommate and he knows where he is. He’d know if Harry changed his mind about university and went traveling instead.”

“It’s possible, I guess. If you find him, you can ask him.”

Her mood changed. “What if he’s responsible for Harry’s disappearance? I heard a story a couple of weeks ago about a college kid who was held against his will by his roommate. They shared a house, you see, and the roommate turned out to be a psycho who locked this poor guy in the basement and then took money from his bank account. He barely fed him–it went on for months–the college guy was nearly dead when he was rescued.”

“Where was his family? Why didn’t they come to check up on him?”

“Maybe they did and they were given the same runaround that my mom was given.” Robbie tried to get to her feet. “I have to get into that room. I have to call Mrs. Campfire–or whatever her name is–to let me in tonight. Let me in or I’ll call the police.”

He knew for a fact that Harry Listowel wasn’t being held hostage inside Number One by a crazed roommate. What harm could come from letting her see the room for herself? Deacon refilled her glass with sherry, hoping between the booze and the painkillers, Robbie would knock off to sleep.

“It’s almost midnight. Mrs. Cameron isn’t going to respond to any demand until morning and the police won’t get involved unless there’s evidence of a crime. Harry is legally allowed to leave campus or neglect to call his mother. I’ll call Mrs. Cameron in the morning. She’ll come if it’s me doing the asking.”